And here we are, at the top of that coaster, anticipating the fall. And we're excited!
For those of you who are new here, please... do not be afraid to dive into the Table of Contents.
For the rest of you who are already in the water...
Red Abyss Insatiable - II. Value and Worth - Part Three
Transcripts for your read-alone or read-along pleasure:
The
lifestyle didn’t change all at once. In
fact, the changes were slow coming, the seeds surreptitiously planted early
on. It would take years of fertilization
and other such necessities in order to grow and spread like a cancer,
undetected until it would be too late.
Scattered within the majority of those
past days--days when everything ran smoothly albeit an argument here or
there--were the minority of days; days when the hours were laden with
destructive deeds. Aden’s father, like anybody, had a temper;
but unlike just anybody, Alexander oft had trouble controlling that
temper. Aden’s family happened to be one that
believed in the obligation of certain remedies, such as physical
punishment. But there were differences
in method, to be sure. For instance, Emily’s
rendition was very sincere: When one of
her children spoke out of line, she would give them a daunting shake of the
head followed by the words, “Get the belt.”
The children, when receiving their punishment from the belt that they
themselves went to fetch, understood the reasons behind the punishment, and
even when they didn’t agree with it, Emily made herself clear, accompanying the
physical dealings with an earnest explanation.
Aden
couldn’t speak for his siblings, but he himself felt he had a good
understanding that the few lashes he received from his mother were earned by
his own poor decisions. As a result,
however stern Aden’s
mother would portray herself to be, anger was not present, and so fear was
never part of the respect given. But of
course, Emily wasn’t the one who had trouble controlling her temper.
When Alexander punished his
children for misbehavior--which could have ranged anywhere between a
disrespectful slur and the sound of the children’s laughter during his attempts
to enjoy a television program--he went to go “get the belt” himself, often
times coming back with a wooden spoon, or a plate, or a chair, or a
screwdriver, or anything at all that wasn’t attached to a wall. He would then throw the item regardless of
how big or sharp it was. Alexander would
often miss, but sometimes... unfortunate proceedings would occur. Anger was riddled in with his extremities
regarding “everyone” and “no one,” and time frames such as “never” and
“always”. The pain released from
Alexander’s fury was something to fear.
Punishments from Alexander were often times misunderstood, and so the
intensities seemed erratic. Aden didn’t learn to
respect his father like he had his mother; his sense of compassion and
responsibility towards Emily was something of aspiration, while his obedience
towards Alexander had been bred of terror.
There was one specific instance that stood
out vividly in Aden’s
mind as the singular, prime example of how these events would transpire:
Ariel was absent, visiting a friend’s, and
so it was only the four Walkers who ate at the dinner table that night. Some time after dinner, Aden poured himself a small bowl of cereal
for dessert. He sat at the empty dinner
table and scooped up a mound of sugary crunchables. As he ate, Angelica pulled up a chair and sat
across from him, drawing in a sketchbook.
Together, the two of them sat in peace while Emily tidied up the
kitchen. The room was quiet, and the
people present, although acting apart, were very much together.
And then from up the stairs, a knee popped
to alert them of his coming. Alexander
stepped around the corner without his glasses, his eyes sunken in, the hair
upon his head still damp from a shower.
He was sporting a red wife-beater and grey sweats. The energy was in his appearance, in the very
way he walked, and the first thing he did was stand behind Angelica to twirl
his fingers through her hair; he did it in a way that was clearly bothersome,
going so far as to create inexplicably high-pitched piggy noises with a
vinegary, scrunched up face.
Angelica said, “Stop it.”
Alexander mocked, “‘Top it, ‘top it!”
Now little Angelica repeated herself,
lifting her hand to swipe Alexander’s away.
“Stop it.”
Alexander continued, getting into the
groove, moving his legs now along with his fingers, repeating his chant: “‘Top it!
‘Top it! ‘Top it!”
Angelica must have reached the end of her
personal ultimatum, for she slid out from her chair, raised her arm, and sent
it down harshly through the air, hard enough to leave a little girl’s red
handprint on her father’s bare shoulder.
The sound of the slap caused a pause in everyone’s behavior: Emily stopped washing dishes; Aden stopped crunching;
Alexander stopped his juvenile dance; Angelica stared up at her father with a
look on her face filled with pure defiance.
For that instant, the world stood
still. Aden didn’t perceive it in the moment, but
years later, he would return to this memory and see the courage like fire in
his sister’s eyes.
But courage isn’t all that’s necessary to
win a battle.
Alexander lifted Angelica quick as
lightening flickers; the sound her body made when he threw her upon the couch
was like the inevitable thunder that follows.
Suddenly the world spun, and Aden
could feel his heart beating as his father hit Angelica wildly on the buttocks,
on the back, on the shoulder. His
syllables accompanied every strike:
“Don’t... You... Ev... Er... Fuck... Ing... Hit... Me...!”
In the background was the weak voice of Aden’s mother, of Emily
saying what she always said in times of Alexander’s rages: “Lexi.
Lexi! Alex, stop! Alex... Alex!”
But of course, he never stopped. Do words alone stop fires? Do words alone stop cyclones or
tsunamis? The world was spinning, and
not much of anything could have ceased the damage, especially not words. The only thing that could stop Alexander in
that situation at that time was Alexander himself. Even Aden
in his boyhood knew of such a truth.
The rampage finally ended with Angelica
running away crying, running to her room to be alone, running to be free from
the fear of Alexander’s demands. And so
she left. But Alexander was still angry,
and if he ever yelled or struck out at Emily, Aden never saw it, which left him as the one
available target.
Sitting across from an open sketchbook
with a half-eaten bowl of cereal was little Aden Walker, who felt afraid, who
felt a shiver all around his body as the man stomped back and forth.
“I’m sick of this bullshit!” roared
Alexander. “I’m sick of these kids who
never do jack shit other than bitch and complain and take and take and
take!” The man stopped and spotted Aden. Eye-contact had been made.
Aden
felt instant guilt, realizing his crime of overindulgence, or maybe of
insulting the man’s wife by eating after the man’s wife had cooked, or maybe he
was staring the wrong way, or maybe--
“Here’s a goddamn kid who--!”
But Aden
only heard that initial statement spill from the man’s oral cavity. He sat thinking of himself as the goddamn kid
who watched helplessly as the man pointed a finger at him and roared his
hatreds towards the woman in the kitchen.
Aden sat
silently, wanting to get up, to throw away the rest of the food and get away
from there, but at the time he was afraid that by doing so he’d be blamed for
wasting food. He just sat and saw and
heard, anticipating whatever should come.
It was all he could do.
---------------------------
Next Part: II. Value and Worth - Part Four
Though this segment begins the downhill slope of unfortunate events, I do hope you have... felt something towards it.
You can follow me on Twitter @Keatongwolfe
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Or even see what's behind the curtain.
Until next time...
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| Art by Keaton G. Wolfe |
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